


Lost Elf

by BoomyMcBlasty



Category: Baldur's Gate
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Interactive Fiction, M/M, Multi, Reader-Interactive, Slow Dancing, can work with both female and male OCs, no beta we die like men, soft, your OC here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-14
Updated: 2020-11-14
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:01:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27551194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BoomyMcBlasty/pseuds/BoomyMcBlasty
Summary: A short interactive scene with light branching and two endings.“You’re eager, aren’t you?” he says with a grin. “But we need to wait a little longer.”You shake your head. “Dance with me?”He studies your face for a second. “It’s been so long—” His lips form a strained smile. “I’m afraid I forgot the steps.”Before you can stay anything, he straightens his shoulders with defiance. “But why not? We might as well show these refugees how it’s done.”
Relationships: Astarion (Baldur's Gate)/Original Character(s), Astarion (Baldur's Gate)/Original Female Character(s), Astarion (Baldur's Gate)/Original Male Character(s), Astarion (Baldur's Gate)/Reader, Astarion/Charname (Baldur's Gate)
Comments: 23
Kudos: 142





	Lost Elf

**Author's Note:**

> Click on the links to jump to the paragraph that corresponds to your choice.

The tiefling party is in full swing, and while it warms your heart to see the refugees so relaxed, wine and dancing lights make the celebration quaint, not exciting.

Astarion’s words still echo in your ears—a promise for something more, something that makes you ache sweetly… something that is going to make the rest of the evening _excruciating_.

Is that why he was so eager to talk to you? Because he wanted you to count down the hours and burn for him?

You sigh and walk around some more.

“I need to dance!” exclaims a tiefling before losing her balance. “Nope. No. I need to lie down.”

1\. _Dancing? That sounds like a great idea—you_ love _dancing_

2\. _Some dancing would spice things up. Why not?_

3\. _You’re not the best dancer, but you still want to give it a try_

4\. _You’re not the best dancer, but with some liquid courage..._  
  


* * *

Between the tadpole and the goblin attacks, you haven’t had the time to properly enjoy yourself. The celebration is the perfect excuse to show off a bit and give Astarion a taste of his own—very delicious—medicine.

His eyes find yours as you approach him with a spring in your step.

“You’re eager, aren’t you?” he says with a grin. “But we need to wait a little longer.”

You shake your head.

“Oh?”

You offer your hand to him. “Dance with me?” 

He studies your face for a second. “It’s been so long—” His lips form a strained smile. “I’m afraid I forgot the steps.”

Before you can stay anything, he straightens his shoulders with defiance. “But why not? We might as well show these refugees how it’s done.”

He takes your hand and gives it a light squeeze. “If only we had some music…”  
You turn towards Alfira and wave to her. The tiefling raises a bottle to you.

“Alfira? How about a ballad?”

She giggles. “Oh, right. Music. Oops!” She puts the bottle down and grabs her lute. The alcohol makes her fingers clumsy; the first strings she plucks make Astarion shudder, but Alfira quickly finds her rhythm and hums to accompany the lute.

“Acceptable.” Astarion sounds less than pleased about the musical performance. “Now, shall we?”

1\. _Offer to lead him_

2\. _Let him lead you_

* * *

Between the tadpole and the goblin attacks, you haven’t had the time to properly enjoy yourself. You’re fairly confident in your dancing, and the celebration is the perfect excuse to get a bit closer to Astarion.

His eyes find yours as you approach him.

“You’re eager, aren’t you?” he says with a grin. “But we need to wait a little longer. Once everyone’s in their bedrolls, we’ll slip out of ours and find each other.”

His words make you almost forget the reason you talked to him in the first place. “I’m here for something else, actually.”

“Oh?”

You ignore your burning cheeks and smile weakly. “Would you like to dance with me?” 

He studies your face for a second. “It’s been so long—” His smile looks strained. “I’m afraid I forgot the steps.”

Before you can stay anything, he straightens his shoulders with defiance. “But why not? We might as well show these refugees how it’s done.” He pouts. “If only we had some music…”  
You turn towards Alfira and wave to her. The tiefling raises a bottle to you.

“Alfira? How about a ballad?”

She giggles. “Oh, right. Music. Oops!” She puts the bottle down and grabs her lute. The alcohol makes her fingers clumsy; the first strings she plucks make Astarion shudder, but Alfira quickly finds her rhythm and hums to accompany the lute.

“Acceptable.” Astarion sounds less than pleased about the musical performance. “Now, shall we?”

1\. _Offer to lead him_

2\. _Let him lead you_

* * *

Between the tadpole and the goblin attacks, you haven’t had the time to properly enjoy yourself; dancing is not your strong suit, but what’s the worst that can happen? Some stomped feet and a laugh.

When you approach Astarion, he seems delighted to talk with you. 

“You’re eager, aren’t you?” he says with a grin. “But we need to wait a little longer. Once everyone’s in their bedrolls, we’ll slip out of ours and find each other.”

His words make you almost forget the reason you talked to him in the first place. “I had something else in mind, actually.”

“Oh?”

You chuckle nervously. “Would you like to dance with me?” 

He studies your face for a second, seemingly concerned. “It’s been so long—” His smile looks strained. “I’m afraid I forgot the steps.”

Before you can retract your offer, he straightens his shoulders with defiance. “But why not? We might as well show these refugees how it’s done.” He gives Alfira a sour look. “If only we had some music…”  
You turn towards the bard and wave to her. The tiefling raises an empty bottle to you.

“Alfira? How about a ballad?”

She giggles. “Oh, right. Music. Oops!” She puts the bottle down and grabs her lute. The alcohol makes her fingers clumsy; the first strings she plucks make Astarion shudder, but Alfira quickly finds her rhythm and hums to accompany the lute.

“Acceptable.” Astarion sounds less than pleased about the musical performance. “Now, shall we?”

1\. _Let him lead you_

* * *

Between the tadpole and the goblin attacks, you haven’t had the time to properly enjoy yourself; dancing is not your strong suit, but what’s the worst that can happen? You drain the bottle in your hands, instantly regretting the sharp aftertaste. Right, what’s the worst that can happen? Some stomped feet and a laugh—hardly a tragedy.

Astarion’s eyes find yours as you approach him with a spring in your step.

“You’re eager, aren’t you?” he says with a grin. “But we need to wait a little longer. Once everyone’s in their bedrolls, we’ll slip out of ours and find each other.”

His words embolden you. “Dance with me?” 

“Mmh?”

You grin and offer him your hand. 

He studies it for a second, seemingly concerned. “It’s been so long—” His smile looks strained. “I’m afraid I forgot the steps.”

Before you can retract your offer, he straightens his shoulders with defiance. “But why not? We might as well show these refugees how it’s done.” He gives Alfira a sour look. “If only we had some music…”  
You turn towards the bard and wave to her. The tiefling raises an empty bottle to you.

“Alfira? How about a ballad?”

She giggles. “Oh, right. Music. Oops!” She puts the bottle down and grabs her lute. The alcohol makes her fingers clumsy; the first strings she plucks make Astarion shudder, but Alfira quickly finds her rhythm and hums to accompany the lute.

“Acceptable.” Astarion sounds less than pleased about the musical performance. “Now, shall we?”

1\. _Let him lead you_

* * *

When you place your hand on his shoulder, he holds your wrist to stop you.

“You want to lead _me_?” Astarion’s eyes are still warm, but the flatness in his voice makes you question your decision.

1\. "Yes, I do."

2\. "What would you prefer?"

3\. "On second thought, it’s better if you lead me."

* * *

“I usually don’t mind using our dearest leader as cover, but…” His shoulders relax. “The ballroom is not a battlefield.”

You look at the mud on the ground and cock an eyebrow.

“You know what I mean.” He crosses the puddle with one graceful step and holds out his hand for you. “Follow me.”

1\. _Let him lead you_

* * *

With one hand on his shoulder and the other on his forearm you gently pull him towards you.

“Let’s see how good you are at this.” Instead of keeping at the recommended distance when in polite company, he gets so close you could kiss him. 

He knows exactly what he is doing, judging by his smirk. “Well?”

You swallow hard and gently guide him one step to the right, one to the left. To your surprise, he’s pliant to your touch. His body presses against yours, a sweet prelude to what’s to come.

You close your eyes and let the plucked strings dictate your next step.

It feels liberating to flush away your worries and simply _feel_ —hear the music, taste the wine still on your tongue, have Astarion’s breath tickle your cheeks.

You should part and clap during the refrain, but you don’t want to let him go.

When you open your eyes, Astarion is in your arms yet far away, lost in thoughts.

“Are you alright?” Your question surprises even you.

“Yes.” His whisper is soft, almost drowned out by the music. He shakes himself out of his reverie. “I was… reminiscing.” His smirk is gentler than usual. “You know, back when I was a magistrate, my parties were considered almost a rite of passage among the nobility.” You still guide him, one step to the left and one to the right. “One did not know the definition of debauchery before attending a feast by yours truly.” His eyes glint with delight.

1\. "Rite of passage?"

2\. "Debauchery?"

* * *

With one hand on your shoulder and the other on your forearm he pulls you in, so close you could kiss him.

“Ready?” 

This is not the recommended distance you should keep when in polite company. Judging by his smirk, Astarion knows exactly what he’s doing. “Well?”

You swallow hard and nod.

“Left and right,” he says, framing your body with his own and leading you. The gentle pressure he applies on your forearm or shoulder tells you exactly where you should go. The steps of the dance are simple and after a minute you close your eyes and enjoy the closeness. His body presses against yours, a prelude to what’s to come. Being in his arms like this makes you flush away your worries and simply _feel_ —hear the music, taste the wine still on your tongue, have Astarion’s breath tickle your cheeks.

You should have parted from each other and clapped during the refrain. You don’t really mind staying close to him.

While holding your breath you open your eyes, tilt your face just so—but he’s not looking. His eyes are unfocused, lost somewhere above your shoulder.

“Are you alright?” Your question surprises even you.

“Yes.” His whisper is soft, almost drowned out by the music. He shakes himself out of his reverie. “I was… reminiscing.” His smirk is gentler than usual. “Back when I was a magistrate, my parties were considered almost a rite of passage among the nobility.” He still guides you, one step to the left and one to the right. “One did not know the definition of debauchery before attending a feast by yours truly.” His eyes glint with delight and a hint of sadness.

1\. "Rite of passage?"

2\. "Debauchery?"

* * *

“A rite of passage?”

He shrugs. “There are lots of humans in Baldur’s Gate. Delightful, if short lived. Live enough decades and you’ll see their sons and daughters replace them.”

1\. "How old are you?"

2\. "You mentioned debauchery."

* * *

Astarion chuckles. “I once bedded twins, precious heirs of a Duke or something.” He runs his tongue over his teeth. “Lovely things, trying to outdo each other for me.”

His afterparties must have been interesting. You cock an eyebrow, but he doesn’t even attempt to look sorry. 

“Don’t make that face, they’re long dead.”

1\. _Ask him about his age_

2\. _Keep dancing_

* * *

“Why do you care?” His tone is light, but you still sense some defensiveness.

One step to the right, one to the left, still impossibly close to each other.

He drops the topic and you don’t pry. Perhaps he has forgotten. 

1\. _Keep dancing_

* * *

The notes slow to a crawl. Your dancing turns into something without leader and follower, a gentle sway from side to side. You feel bold enough to rest your cheek against Astarion’s shoulder, and you’re even more surprised when he lets you.

“Are you still enjoying yourself?” you ask.

“We are so obscenely close… those tieflings will remember us for more than just saving their sorry hides.”

You chuckle. He’s deflecting.

He gently spins you around and your heart flutters in your chest.

“Tiefling.” Of course, it’s just so he can talk to Alfira. “Do you know any elvish ballads?”

The bard’s fingers stop. “Of course I do! Any bard worth her salt does.” 

“No doubts about that.” He happily ignores your warning look.

Alfira’s too drunk or tired—or both—to do justice to the elvish song and Astarion’s face drops.

“Ugh. Stick to the Elturel drinking songs.” The bard takes another bottle from the ground. “But _do_ keep playing.”

The music resumes, too simple for proper dancing.

“What’s wrong?” you whisper, swaying from side to side. 

“I _have_ forgotten the steps.” It sounds almost like a confession, an admission of wrongdoing. Elvish ballads are an intricate affair and he forgot the art.

1\. _Make him sway with you_

2\. _Stay still with him_

* * *

“I have never heard you sound so… remorseful.”

“Me? Remorseful?” He wrinkles his nose. “Perish the thought.”

After a deep sigh he starts swaying with you again. 

“Just a little longer, please,” you ask.

He doesn’t answer—instead, he gently squeezes your shoulder, so close you can feel the absence of his heartbeat.

_Ending 1._

* * *

The hand you placed on his shoulder moves slowly to brush his cheek.

“What?”

His skin is cold to the touch. You take your chances and stroke his cheek again—and he _lets_ you. You have never seen him so mellow.

Clumsy notes pour out of the lute, but instead of dancing, you stay still with him, so close you can feel the absence of his heartbeat.

_Ending 2._

**Author's Note:**

> I would love to know what choices you picked when reading! It's really short since I wanted to get used to AO3's HTML notations, but I hope you liked it :)


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